


Talisman

by 12thofNever



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12thofNever/pseuds/12thofNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon recalls a strangely ordinary moment in time that changes his relationship with Blake forever. It happens in one room, in one <em>Liberator</em> night. Much repression and astonishment and overuse of the word "ravish" ensues. Plus the usual cuddles and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talisman

**Author's Note:**

> Avon narrates this one on his way to Terminal to search for Blake. (The actual narrative occurs immediately prior to the episode Star One and their separation.) My excuse to give them one happy night together before all the carnage begins.

    I hate to disappoint you.  
    It wasn't exactly the sordid encounter you might imagine in your lascivious mind (if you are so inclined). It wasn't even particularly carnal. Yes, there was sex (of course there was sex) but I was not physically its instigator. (That was Blake, it's always Blake, Blake who makes the first courageous and ofttimes dimwitted move.) But yes, I loved him. Yes, and there I've gone and said it. Which probably makes me more dimwitted than he. Or Vila for that matter. Or Travis, which is even more insulting to my ego.  
    It was my first (and only) romantic encounter with him. Not because we wished to cease such encounters, but you see, circumstances determined otherwise. There was a place called Star One that got in the way of our strangely changing relationship and...well now, I am getting ahead of myself. Those events are known to you.  
    This event (and it was indeed an event in the same way that a supernova is an event), is Blake's and my secret. I prefer to carry this with me in the back of my otherwise rational mind like a magical talisman bought in a moment of poor judgment or even insanity. I don't believe in magic of course, nor miracles. But what I have is a moment as precious as the rarest gemstone to pull to the front of my memories and contemplate on the loneliest of days when I feel his absence the most. No one will ever know this, least of all him.  
  
    When I entered his private chamber that evening, I seemed to have lost all of my prized rationality. Logic told me I was giving in to the dangers of sentiment, and I conjecture, perhaps I was still feeling ill from local food I had indulged in earlier on Beta Gamma. (Oh, to have proper Earth wine and cheese. Sauteed mushrooms over a bed of linguini with a delicate pesto sauce and sun-dried tomatoes.) Instead of gourmet cuisine, I had a bowl of fried mush on Beta Gamma and sat staring at it dismally before contemplating even lifting my spoon to poke at it. Cally nudged me to consume it for whatever valued nutrients it could offer me and I dutifully choked it down for the purposes of self-preservation.  
    Big mistake. It reappeared in the _Liberator's_ lavatory an hour later.  
    Blake had not accompanied us to Beta Gamma. (How fortunate for his intestinal tract.) I was staggering about feeling cranky and intolerant  and nauseous, which was not exactly an auspicious beginning to what would become one of the loveliest and, I daresay, most momentous "nights" of my life. (Zen had given us Earth-like measurements of time on the ship, and the computer began dimming corridors in preparation for this illusion of an Earth evening.) My nights consist of my working on programs alone, indulging at the very most on strong tea. If I was fortunate enough to procure alcohol with Vila somewhere (not wretched Soma), it would be something close to the beloved vintages of my home planet. Tonight, I had had such a glass of some alien fruit wine mixed with Terran rosewater. Lovely, fragrant bouquet. Perhaps it was responsible for me heading in the direction of Blake's private chamber for a "discussion".  
    I had no idea what I had planned to discuss with him. I wanted to fight, if you must know. Our verbal sparring invigorated me, made me feel that I wasn't becoming complacent. I liked to see the spark of debate rise in him as well: I wanted him to challenge his own often ludicrous ideology. I wanted to make him so angry he would threaten to expel me from the _Liberator_ again, then begrudgingly admit that he needed my expertise in this lame-brained rebellion, along with my thoughts on his newest planned fiasco. And then he would beg me to stay, of course. Because he needed me.  
    Smugly, I also wanted to hear him tell me I was right. And I always am right, of course.  
    So this is what I thought would happen after he allowed me entrance into his chamber. But what transpired instead was quite different.  
    Logic, as I have just mentioned, seemed to be alluding me. I only stood there at that short distance in his spartan room, desperately wanting to berate him and snarl at him and curse his quixotic stupidity once more. (It's become a favorite hobby of mine.) Yet I found myself transfixed all at once by his sad, heavy-lidded eyes and brows lifted in bemusement. There was an ironic curve to his gentle mouth, so non-infuriating this evening. His lanky relaxed form at the opposite side of the room, his loose, flowing garments and cordial patience mesmerized me. I found myself faltering, mid-rant.  
    I suddenly had the strangest urge: I wanted to run to him and climb him like a tree, coil myself around his strong trunk, sink my hands into his leaves of umber curls and live in him.  
    I stood there dumbfounded and staring. Blake stared back at me.  
    Blake saved me the trouble of traversing that short distance by striding toward me, cocking his head inquisitively. "Avon." His deep voice, so sonorous and much more resonant than how I perceived my own rasp. "Are you all right?"  
    "Of course I am," I snapped.  
    Was I? The hell if I knew.  
    I glanced to the side guiltily, not wanting to meet his intense gaze. I folded my arms defensively. "Why would you think otherwise?" Stupid, I told myself, I was letting my mask slip and he knew it. Yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain my implacability.  
    A hand went to one of my grey leather sleeves, just an innocent gesture of concern. I was actually trembling, which astonished me. He felt me trembling and I cursed myself. There was a peculiar energy in the chamber right then, as if we stood on the edge of an event horizon. He felt it; I was certainly feeling it. I had no idea what had even come over me. My glass of alien wine had only pleasantly relaxed me after a disconcerting day of vomiting up alien vita-mush, so I cannot blame that for Blake's sudden and disturbing allure. No, there was something deeper, heavier, grasping and invisible between us at that precise moment in time.  
    I should have turned on my heel and made an abrupt departure. I did not. When his big hand boldly lifted and reached into my hair, I should have swatted it away in disgust. (It was Blake's idiot hand, after all.)  I did not.  Blake's fingers stroked my fringe in what I presumed to be a reassuring gesture gone a little too intimate. He leaned down and stared into my eyes with unblinking intensity; his eyes were the color of dark honey and I suddenly could not bear them. I closed mine to block out his impertinent scrutiny. All my logic screamed at me to violently push him aside and stalk out of the room. I did not.  
    Instead, I stood there, a blind Roman statue, as he explored my face tenderly with his fingers. I have never felt I was conventionally attractive; it was irrelevant to my self-interests and ambitions to consider otherwise. That said, sartorially I was quite fastidious: I liked to adorn my body with aesthetically pleasing garments, as it assisted with the controlled image I wished to present to others. Yet I suddenly, foolishly, desperately, wanted to divest myself of these garments and give him my body.  
    I was absolutely frightening myself.  
    I folded my arms more tightly, stiffening in more places than I was comfortable with at the moment.       
    Blake continued his gentle exploration and I refused to open my eyes. Like Anna, my lover and betrayer before him, Blake was fascinated with my lashes and the shape of my mouth. He brushed soft fingers across my eyelids, which almost made me gasp aloud for its mild sensuality. Then he traced the contour of my lips, comparing them to rose petals. (I thought again of my rose-flavored wine, frantically desiring another glass of it right now.) Flower imagery? My eyes flew open then in disbelief. Of all the ridiculous, poetic tripe-- and yet I found myself melting in vanity.  
    Blake was grinning down at me, amused at my discomfort. "May I?" he asked sweetly, looking at my "flower-like" mouth with obvious intent.  
    I wanted to growl that he certainly may NOT, that I needed to abscond to my studies of Federation programming and coding. I did neither and the words were swallowed up in the back of my throat. I looked wide-eyed and furious into his dark amber eyes, so whimsical and inviting to me. He touched my chin experimentally and then finally lowered his lips to my "rose petal" mouth. And then I was utterly, completely lost. It happened that fast and that efficiently and again I cursed myself over and over and over still, (using more mental bad language in his presence than I could ever recall) even as I encircled him with my arms in desperation.  
    I think I went mad then. And I don't think I've ever recovered from this madness.  
    My chest heaved like a protagonist in a romance novel (not that I know about these things, of course) and he pulled me so tightly to him that our boundaries blurred and I wanted to be inside him. Blake was bigger than me and stronger, but I was more cunning and treacherous-- I began to fight off this carefully cultivated and surly personality that was my barrier from the rest of humanity. Presently, it was preventing me from fully appreciating what new disaster I was now helping Blake create. It was to become our own private disaster and I hated myself right then. Yet, I wanted the dispassionate Kerr Avon to dissolve and leave behind a being of pure aether and emotion. "Let me FEEL something this time!" I bellowed internally. "Let the glacier that is my stupid metaphorical soul thaw just this once." I wanted to become as insubstantial as a ghost at Blake's side; at the same time I wanted to be all too corporeal and shelter in the protection he could offer me in those sturdy arms. (Yes, I wanted to be held.) I wanted his body to lie beside mine with not just his hands exploring me, but his mouth and his tongue. I suddenly wanted to be caressed and kneaded and fucked.  
    I sighed wearily. There was only one option left. "Take me," I said.  
    I must admit my tone was not encouraging. Blake pulled back with a frown. "You don't sound enthusiastic about the prospect." His mouth quirked a bit and he tilted his head, as if observing a cosmic anomaly on Zen's screen.  
    "It's... that is to say... All this is unexpected," I said, continuously losing my command of speech. Words were getting as sticky as glue in my throat. My most indispensable arsenal has always been my elocution and even that was failing me now.  
    I finally looked up into his confused, concerned face. He was being quite courteous and I appreciated it, but I wanted to make it clear to him I wasn't fighting with him right now. I surrendered to him, absolutely and completely, admitting defeat. I whispered, "I give myself to you. Do with me as you will."  
    Blake was astonished. "I want you to have some say in the matter. I'm not going to throw you up against a wall and have my way with you."  
    "No...?" I actually pouted. Somehow his chivalry disappointed me and I was shocked at myself. Is that what I was offering him, the control I so ferociously guarded? A brief fantasy flashed through my addled mind of a very un-gentlemanly Blake and I was actually relieved by the reality. All he'd given me was a gentle kiss (and some polite groping) and my imagination was rapidly accelerating to the debauched.  
    He took one of my hands in both of his, turned it over and kissed the palm. He was reverent and careful. My own hands are blunt and square-fingered, technician's hands; but I've been told they could affect elegant gestures. With all the gracefulness I could muster I finally allowed them to investigate Blake's long, sad face; they slid about its contours, the backs of my tentative fingers stroking until his heavy-lidded eyes drooped to half-mast and he smiled almost shyly. I reached up and sank my hands into his lush chestnut curls. We both sighed. I believed then that my insanity was complete. This was Blake the sanctimonious, boneheaded rebel I was caressing, after all.  
    Blake gathered me into his arms with ease then, pulling my slighter frame against him until I lost the last of my resolve and became as pliable as clay in his embrace. I was sighing voluptuously now, rubbing myself against him like a cat and he was trying to find the fastenings to undo my dove-grey leather tunic. I was not very helpful at all as I was becoming more languid with lust. Once the tunic was discarded and became a soft leather puddle at my feet, he worked his hands over my bare, pale chest, swirling his fingers in my chest hair, which I'd always kept hidden from public view. Blake laughed with delight. "Oh, Avon, I knew you were beautiful. I just needed to see you without your armor on. "  
    I wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, but I wasn't ready for that admission. He sucked at my chest, found a nipple and I gasped; and then I became a complete idiot.  
    "Ravish me now," I croaked.  
    "Ravish?" Blake looked up at me and grinned magnificently, his honey eyes crinkling in mirth (at my expense). "Did you just say 'ravish'? REALLY?" He began to laugh, which wasn't helping my plight; I blushed fiercely. "Such an archaic word! You want me to RAVISH you then?"  
    I was going to explode any minute. "You're a jackass. Yes. YES."  
    "All right," he chuckled. "Let's get to ravishing you." He pulled off his own loose tunic and tossed it carelessly aside. I was a bit overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of his naked chest, I must admit. He knelt and enthusiastically began to fondle me everywhere until I moaned. "Here's me ravishing you," he reported cheerfully. "Ravishing you all the way to the bed." He managed to carry my writhing form to his rather dull, unimaginative mattress and pin me down to it with his lanky body. "Ravishing commencing," he droned, imitating the low thunder of Zen's mechanical voice. "Ravishment begins in five...four... three.."  
    "Oh, shut up you bastard!" I gasped and his mouth quickly covered mine and he shut me up very efficiently instead. He worked his hips against me, his hardness more than apparent. He released my mouth at last (I cried out) and he slid his tongue down my abdomen, sensing my obvious zeal that he reach a specified area of me in need of attendance. His fingers worked to undo my leather trousers, as he could see I was in pain from the strain of my erection. "Ravishment continues," he intoned.  
    I bit him.  
    "OW!" he yelped. "Information! Ravishment interrupted..."  
    I bit him again. Then I yelled: "Stop it! Would you STOP IT?"  
    "Stop it? You want me to stop?" He pulled away with a mock-pout.  
    I panicked immediately and yanked him back down on top of me. "NO! Moron! Go on! Just stop using that word!"  
    "What word? Oh, you mean RAVISH! But it's your own terminology!"  
    "Please-- just--"  
    Then I began to laugh.  
    I. Began. To. Laugh.  
    Blake was delighted. He watched me for a moment as I rolled about on the bed cackling. He was amazed by the bizarre apparition of a laughing Avon. It wouldn't be the first time that absurdity had this effect on me. Rather than it being inappropriate for the moment, it had the result of making him merrier. His face flushed gloriously as he grinned at me, proud of his work, chuffed he had reduced coldhearted Kerr Avon to a giggling fit.  
    "Ravishing resumed!" he announced, diving onto to me and rolling me nearly off the bed.  And he did as he promised: he ravished me well and good until I was putty. He seemed to enjoy dredging emotion from me most of all--embarrassment, lust, laughter. This seemed to be his aphrodisiac when confronted with my stubborn stoicism. And oh, he was exquisite in those hours, his long legs wrapped about me luxuriously, imprisoning me. His mouth at my throat, then down to my hips and down to my groin. I felt like I was not doing my share of the ravishing, as I felt my universe expand and implode and reform and smash me into stardust. I coalesced with great difficulty. Yes, I'm using space euphemisms for my sexual pleasure. Do I care what you think? Certainly not.  
    After we both had our fill of one another, I lay there in bed, entwined with him, slick and blissful and panting. My arm traversed his chest, my leg curled around him possessively; he still stroked my hair and he sighed the deepest, loveliest sighs I've ever heard another man sigh, and it was into my damp locks. My head was nestled on his shoulder. I belonged to him, I told myself, now and forever-- though I would never, ever tell him that.  
    When he said to me, gently, that I must never be afraid of him, or to fear a lack of loyalty to me, or that he trusted me implicitly more than anyone else-- I did not argue with him. The truth is, something unforgivable happened: to my utter humiliation, I began to weep. I turned my head away and tried to disentangle myself from his long limbs. "Avon," he said and pulled me carefully back as a parent would a recalcitrant child.  
    I snarled at him. "Don't look at me."  
    "It's human, Avon. You may forget you are a member of the species, but yes, this can happen." He was mystified by my tears and he tenderly brushed them from my mortified face, then kissed where they fell some more. Obviously, I was disgusted with my show of weakness.  
    "Salt water, that's all," I said, contemptuous, trying to regain my composure. "A chemical response of the endocrine system to release waste through the ocular region in order to eliminate stress from an overstimulated brain."  
    "Quite the romantic, aren't you?" Blake smiled sadly. "No, Avon, tears are so much more than that. In them there is beauty and hope."  
    I suddenly came to the realization that he loved me.  
    I sighed, rolling my eyes. "You ridiculous, idealistic fool."  
    "Yes," Blake intoned. "I would want it no other way. And I want by my side a pragmatic, coldly beautiful advisor, who--once ravished properly--" He lifted his eyebrows comically. "--melts quite nicely in my embrace. You're the fool's accomplice."  
    "Oh, shut up," I growled gently and slid beside him. I pulled the light blanket over my head, hiding my blush and my drying tears, and slithered down the length of his comforting body, molding myself as tightly as I could to it. "Let me melt then," I murmured. "And if you ever tell anyone, I'll kill you." He gathered me to him and I sighed. I have never known such complete peace since; I remember dissolving into the deepest, most wonderful sleep of my life. I felt protected; I felt adored.  
  
    It didn't last very long. Once released from that chamber and that night, I put my mask firmly back in place. But I watched him and he watched me and we understood each other completely, sharing furtive glances across the Liberator flight deck. We never laughed together again.  
    I killed Travis for him. I thought this would free him. No.  
    As the _Liberator_ approaches Terminal, I am hiding myself from the rest of the crew. These treacherous, betraying tears continue to fall even as I wipe furiously at them with a black and silver sleeve. My beloved Blake, my dreaming fool, the human cathedral where this unspiritual man once took his refuge. Without you I am a wreck. I am lost. And I can never tell anyone, not even you, Blake. I love you, I love you, I love you.  
    And I am coming for you.                                 
      
   


End file.
